"mismatching" poems
I hope you wore a sweater,
in your favorite shade of blue.
It gets cold in late November,
_(it gets darker faster, too)_
I hope the shoes you wore fit snugly
_(even if your socks don't match)_
I hope your last day wasn't ugly,
I hope the pain was over fast.
I'm sure you felt your sadness deeply,
I'm sure you felt your heart ache too.
When you took a walk when all were sleeping,
in your favorite shade of blue.
I wonder what it felt like,
to pick the perfect tree.
To end your painful heartache,
snug shoes on dangling feet.
But my most pressing question,
that I would ask of you,
is where did you lose your earbud?
_(you're wearing one, not two)_
They moved you to the metal table,
_(the one that tilts down at an angle)_
They cut the sweater off you too,
your favorite one in midnight blue.
They make their notes:
your weight,
your height.
They check your shoulder width and write:
"He will fit a standard casket"
_(they carry on with their assessment)_
"Rope indentation - on the neck
Eyes and fingers - blue and red
Socks mismatching
Nike shoes
One earbud gone"
_(that's all I knew)_
Tell me why'd you take that walk?
I know the road ahead looked bare.
Tell me how you chose a song.
Did you brush your teeth and comb your hair?
Did it happen on a school night?
_(your file says you were in 12th grade)_
Did you tell your mom you loved her?
- with your mind already made.
So to the boy with just one earbud,
I'm sorry this world felt so wrong.
I hope you're in your favorite sweater,
and you're listening to your favorite song.
Dec 10, 2023
Dec 10, 2023 at 8:44 AM UTC
the professor
name's John, I think
every day a goatee
a ponytail
and an honest smile
brings me flowers
sometimes.
pays in nickels
sometimes.
"have an easy day"
he says to me
man in the same brown
suit, mismatching
every day
coffee, hunched over
with something under
his arm
sometimes.
never seen him speak
just a scowl
and a solemn shuffle
the owner
of the bar next door
I think.
out for a cigarette
every 30 minutes or so
or move his car
he gets our mail
sometimes.
glasses on his forehead
never on his face
always a fleeting
noncommittal smile
pacing past the door
sly eyes.
there's the guy
stuck in the 70s.
every day
bell bottoms
a black bowl cut
it's a wig
I think.
a leather jacket
sometimes.
walks like he owns
the sidewalk
he doesn't.
the old man
the half-blind one
orders the same thing
always.
with his walker
his hands searching
haven't seen him
in a while
the big guy from
the burger place
across the street
no, not the famous one
the other place.
took his suggestion
got a burger
wasn't very good
but he's always so
cheery, gotta be nice
the one guy
blue shorts guy
stops by during his
run, to check
the selection. back
an hour later in
pants and
a jacket now.
never buys a thing
wearing those blue shorts
the woman with
oddly spaced teeth
and hair
the short witchy kind
lots of shawls
and oversized tote bags
and cargo-capri's.
complained of
an allergic reaction
once
to god knows what.
keeps coming back though
a mother and son
mother, tired.
ten year old
private school boy
asks for too much
and too many questions
"did you make this?"
"are you really 20?"
"do you go to school?"
he asks so many questions
"yes, yes, no."
"why not?"
"well…"
mom saves me
distracts him away
the poor skinny one
the homeless man.
ill-fitting clothes
always.
women's
sometimes.
begging, cigarettes and money
has a tic, says
"hello! hi! hello!"
every few seconds
he's very persistent.
and very polite.
gracefully insane, I'd say
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 4:20 AM UTC
With brain bashing into head cavity,
the gelatinous mass of neurons screams out
to white blood cells swimming in eyeballs
to evacuate before drowning.
"Quit clowning around in there and
save yourselves!"
The moody mistress creates her own hells:
congratulations!
Sleeping alone in a sweat covered bed,
she spins saccharine thoughts and pollutes her head
with taffy, thick like molasses,
cooking sugar in the kitchen with
the wrong end of a spoon in her mouth.
Dried up *** stains litter her couch
as she wakes up to turn the cushions
and search for loose change
to fill up her coin pouch.
"Ouch! Ouch!"
She calls out, clean
sheets on a new day,
his fingers firing in a frenzy
and introducing the fusion of
pleasure and pain.
He smells of benzene and
she's afraid of burning,
stomach churning and
using gasoline as lubricant.
He hit her, she said, and it felt like a kiss.
She misses him at her day job
when she runs around town
robbing banks and
picking up handkerchiefs
that grandmothers drop on the ground.
He would pound
his manhood into a brick wall
if it moved like her,
but the skin-and-bones combo
woos him to coo at her
as swarms of sparrows
nest in her ***** hair.
Spit shined shoes and
riding leaves blown on the air,
she dreams of him awake,
listless eyes alive and pulsing
behind a film of glassy, viscous mucus.
She makes magic potions out of the scents
left over on one of her
mismatching pillow cases.
He tastes like roasted red peppers
and lingering mace:
her eyes water as she
chokes back ***** daintily,
like a queen.
His eyes gleam mean as
he steals her breath to
add it to his bursting bank account,
releasing her to give her back only gasps,
the 2% interest.
She crafts road maps of his back bone while he sleeps,
but he sees her as a phantom,
creeping through the floorboards,
a faceless specter with an ace up her sleeve.
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 5:10 PM UTC
Though we both came from the same place, perhaps it’s our desires & reality in mismatching that got us changing places, who’s to say I’m right or wrong, through hard times got my heart turn hard & my anxiety got my character stupor. Real friends make effort to be apart & make us feel good. It’s been a while since a flashed a smile. I hope it won’t stay until the end of time. I am able to let go, another poem out, it’s less than what I’m about, there is more, but the only thing I’ve done good is writing poetry. Now I’m peeked behind the curtain & willing be selling my soul. Now I’m in forever.
https://www.amazon.com.au/Inherent-Sin-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07FR5FW42/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1536924150&sr=8-1&keywords=darcy+prince
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 8:06 PM UTC
I am forever mismatching socks so you can always remove them by the waistline of your silhouette,
Lighting dinner candles in bottles that are empty from the lover who drained me in a mix of crushed ice and deceit.
They burn as I distill in you,
Matches waiting for the day you no longer need convincing.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 6:27 AM UTC
My words just arn't graceful
And my thoughts quite distasteful
I'd rather not think at all
An eternal sleep
Or a prince named Phillepe
A mismatching rhyme
Or a bucket of slime
Dunk my woes in a trail of hoes
For i've taken it out with many-a-blows
Blow me a bubble
A life void of trouble
For a well rested life
I'd bottle my strife
But until that day comes
I need something that numbs
For I am most easily replaceable
These words really are quite disgraceful
I'm stuck right in a bind
Just can't get you off my mind
How cliche
Is what you would say
How terrible are these useless lines
They give me nothing but impertinent rhymes
Not a story
Nor a page of glory
I'll continue to ramble on
Until once again I feel strong
I'll string two lines together
This could go on forever...
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 4:24 AM UTC
MUST LOVE POETRY
And I don't mean the written kind
I mean the kind that is felt
It doesn't matter if you can express it,
You don't have to write it
Sing it
Or
Preform it-
You have to believe it.
The beauty of a sunset
The art between character and voice
The beauty of two things mismatching
You have to wonder about the world
And travel to places you'll never go
You have to wear masks of different faces
Find beauty in love that heaven replaces
Put treasure where voids leave empty spaces.
MUST LOVE POETRY
The kind that lasts longer than a read through
The kind that you feel as the wind breathes you
The poetry that finds light in all the dark alleys
The kind that doesn't give up when in a hopeless valley
It's the kind of poetry that's lived
The kind that sees more than seven colors in a rainbow
Hangs on to love
but isn't afraid to let go
It's the kind that doesn't always make sense...
Past
Present
Or future tense-
MUST LIVE POETRY.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
Yet the sun's coming down to earth,
and walks the fields and the waters
Yet the great man's willing to be little
Neither those raised heads
Nor those unguarded egos
Mismatching the faces and matching the souls
Can this heart ever show
look beyond the imperfections
There lies this perfect soul
where this heart has had ached
where this soul has had cried
Now is the time
To show the world,
your built up glory
your glowing charm..
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 12:01 PM UTC
others waltz and caper
while i stumble about
in mismatching rusted anatomy
i was a king queen,
praise my uncloaked *******
memorabilia
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
You are the vase on the edge of the table
Falling down at minimal action at anytime
and there is no enough glue available
to fix the million fragments you'd become
You are the drug overdose
And the only antidote
Swinging to each extreme dose
Intoxicating then catching falls
We are a puzzle of mismatching parts
Failing to show what we must portray
We're on a journey of intertwined paths
With a broken compass to guide the way
Peace endeavors gone with the wind
Never stop the impending storm
Boiling blood under frozen skin
Will never keep our hearts warm
And so we wait
We wait for life
For the new season to overlap
as the old one fades
For the clock to whirl
At a faster pace
For love to show
in a tight embrace
For tragedy to wear off
the angel's face
~Epic Monkey
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 4:49 AM UTC
If you're waiting for a Prince Charming
I'm sorry to break your fantasies
But he will never come
If you're waiting for someone
Handsome, funny, wealthy
Understanding and caring
All at the same time
Then you won't find one
But maybe you'll find a
Funny nutjob without a job
Or a wealthy guy shielded with walls
You'll find a
Handsome hero with a broken heart
Or maybe an understanding nerd
With no looks at all
Love won't measure and calculate
Because 'lovability' is like pineapple on pizza
It's not a thing
You'll fall for the worst of them
And the best of them
But none will be perfect
Who the **** created perfect?
Mathematically,
It would be equal to infinity times better
It's like saying
Two parallel lines will meet
Or a zero will multiply itself over and over till it reaches a quantity
But actually, in what we feel and see
It won't, it's all abstract
Perfect doesn't exist
Prince Charming doesn't exist
But you can find someone
In whose pockets you can tuck your imperfections
And he can tuck it in yours
And you can be mismatching puzzle pieces
Trying to lock into each other
But not locking in completely
Trying to be of the same frequency
But varying in every other degree
You can be who you are, bare skin and bones
With each other but you'll never be
A fairytale or a happily ever after
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
I told this girl she’s beautiful and.
I believe I am suitable man.
The feeling could be mutual.
She’s a cutie too, but what to do?
Sit back and look at that pretty view.
Like the skyline in a city view.
A Memorizing thought I’m missing you.
A Disappearing thought me kissing you.
But that never happened a little mismatching.
Special attraction causes a chain reaction.
So let me imagine this trend is a fashion.
No excuses to expressing my actions.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 7:09 PM UTC
Learning things
That make you
Squirm where you sit,
And bounce off
The things that make
You cringe,
Selling your soul
To preserve your
Skin,
Mismatching your
Glass eyeballs
And tearing your hair,
Putting pressures
On the canvas of
Your brain,
The presence of
Your unorthodoxies
Clouding your ears
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
Lately, they fail me
Everything is tending to
The words
I am lost
Fighting through a shadow
Reaching for the stars
But settling for the wet grass
Lying among the strands
Broken
Like I feel
I let you reach into my soul
Pull and tug me along
Let myself long to please you
I let the world take my hands
Tied together and to everything else
Drag me along
I will follow
Shouldn't I learn how to be
A scale
To measure worth
To balance this?
Shouldn't I be calm in crises?
Instead of the hurricane itself?
But the tears won't stop
I've tried dikes
But still the waves come
I beg you
Take it from me
Your words scratch and burn
Lacerating my soul
Teaching me to hide
But the shadows
My friends
Have gone
I have tried to be a veteran
Undertook the enemies
To see you smile
Why?
Tell me
Why am I like this?
Why does this mismatching, shattered soul
Rely on darkness to keep calm?
The darkness that rips itself away from me
Keeping its distance
Show me the sadness
I welcome it
Anything but this weight on my heart
I don't know how to put it to words anymore
I can't get rid of it
I don't comprehend myself
I'm drowning
I am
trying
help me
I have undertaken too much
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC
The first time I saw you, you walked past me like a crack in the wall. You were as tall as a skyscraper and for a brief moment I felt rocks in my chest when your eyes made a connection with mine and strayed for a minute before you disappeared into the crowd of people. You look both ways before exchanging I love you's and as we hug goodbye I feel you scanning the empty room with your eyes as if the walls themselves had eyes and ears and mouths that could give you away. Curled up on your lap with mismatching breaths you wondered how someone who looked like they carried mountains could crumble so easily into your arms like the tornado in my mind finally came down and crashed and burned. Rubbing the tips of my fingers down your arm like reading Braille carved into your skin binding them together forming the perfect metaphor and you'll hear it playback with thoughts in your head at 4am when your head runs wild with thoughts of me. I set fire to your insides with hushed breaths between kisses planted perfectly on your lips and make you wonder how dangerous it is to play with fire when your whole body is made out of paper. You'll stare god right in the eyes and tell him if loving me was a sin then you want no place of heaven with him because of the way my lips fit perfectly on your neck is a type of paradise you'll never want to forget.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 3:53 AM UTC